The Cowboy's Orphan Bride. Lauri Robinson
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leave,” JoJo said.
Malcolm Johansson, the man who’d hired him when he’d been as green as grass, was still a trusted friend and a man Garth was thankful to have met. Malcolm was a hard man, but an honest one, and had taught Garth a lot about life. “I told him my plan the day he hired me.” A plan he was still working on. That’s how he did things, thought each detail out thoroughly before putting them in place, and then followed them through to the end. That had been the one lesson he’d learned back at the orphanage that he’d held on to. Not thinking things through made for a tough life.
“I heard as much,” JoJo said. “But Malcolm was still sad to see you leave his employ.”
“Sam Taylor will serve Malcolm well,” Garth told JoJo the same thing he’d told many others when they’d questioned him leaving Johansson’s employ. “He’s been driving cows to Wichita for years.”
“Yeah, he will,” JoJo said. “But Sam Taylor ain’t no Garth McCain.”
Coming from JoJo, that was a compliment like no other, and Garth figured it was a good place to end the conversation. “I’ll be back in time for the evening meal,” he said, tapping his heels against his horse.
“Don’t forget my supplies!” JoJo shouted.
Garth waved a hand to signal that he’d heard while urging the horse into a gallop.
They had to be around forty miles south of Dodge City. He could almost smell the town. Every stinking inch of it. Dodge smelled of cattle, booze, cigar smoke and women. Not a single one of those things was offensive to him.
This would be the first time he’d dealt with the stockyards there. All his other drives had ended in Wichita. That’s where he’d made his way to after leaving Orson’s place, and where he’d run into Malcolm. At the Wichita stockyards. The man had told him if he ever made it down to Texas to look him up. He was always in need of cowboys.
That was exactly what Garth had done, followed Malcolm all the way south, and along the way, told Malcolm his plan. That he’d work for him, until it was time for him to go out on his own. That had been nine years ago, and last fall, after returning to Texas, he’d told Malcolm it was time. It had taken him years to save up enough money to assure all would turn out just as he’d imagined. A good sale this year would guarantee he’d been right.
Malcolm hadn’t tried to talk him out of going out on his own. Instead he’d offered a place to pasture the cattle Garth had bought and rounded up throughout the winter—at a price of course. Garth hadn’t expected any less.
That’s how life should be. Fair. Honest. That had been an issue for him. People’s dishonesty. Malcolm claimed Garth had driven away more cowhands than any man he’d ever known. Garth had retorted by saying Malcolm should be happy about that. No one wants a dishonest man in their employ. Or foolish or impulsive ones. That’s how mistakes were made.
Malcolm had agreed, but had also warned him to be careful about expectations. Said sometimes a man doesn’t know what he wants until he sees it.
Garth laughed at the memory. He knew what he wanted. Right now, that was water, so he settled his attention on the lay of the land, looking for telltale signs. In this country, that meant trees.
Glancing in both directions, and straight ahead again, Garth drew a deep breath and let it out. He’d settle for one. One tree. That’s all he needed. Just one.
Once he found a water spot for the cattle to rest for the night, he’d ride on into Hosford and pick up some coffee and bacon. JoJo had said this morning there wasn’t quite enough to get them to Dodge. The cook had offered to ration the portions if needed, but Garth had said no. His men earned their wages every day, and their fodder. He’d never told a cowhand he couldn’t eat his fill, and he wasn’t about to start now.
The other reason he needed to go to Hosford was to send a telegram to Dodge, to make sure the stockyard was ready to receive his cattle.
He held up a hand to shield the glare of the sun as he scanned the horizon. One of the downfalls of being the first drive of the year was not having a clear path to follow. The trail had been well-worn last fall when he’d taken it south. Now a new growth of grass covered the prairie. What he’d followed last fall could be a few miles either east or west. He didn’t think so, but had to admit it was possible. Cattle needed grass to eat along the way, which meant drives didn’t follow an exact trail. Rather, the route was spread out east and west for miles. Hence, why some called the Great Western trail cursed. Water, the other thing cattle needed, could be elusive. Might be only a mile away, yet never found.
The same was true for the Chisholm, and he’d been the first on that trail more than once over the years. Trusting his gut, he angled his horse slightly northwest. This land was so flat, so barren, a tree should stand out like a red petticoat, but dang if he could see one right now.
He clearly remembered a creek crossing the trail around these parts. An offshoot of the larger river farther east. He’d camped near that creek. Alone last fall, he’d traveled much faster than he could with a drive of over twenty-five hundred head of cattle, but considering they’d stayed near the Big Basin two nights ago, that creek had to be close. Hosford couldn’t be more than five or six miles north of here.
Scanning the area again, he pinpointed his gaze. A dot on the horizon could be a tree, or it could be a house. There was only one way to find out.
“These green beans are so delicious, Bridgette,” Emma Sue said with a voice that was little more than a whisper. “How did you make them?”
“I fried them in the bacon grease left from this morning,” Bridgette answered while gently covering the dough she’d just rolled out and cut into strips. Squaring the corners of the cloth to make sure dust or insects didn’t settle upon her egg noodles as they dried, she continued, “I also added a few onions I found growing west of the house.”
“I think that’s where the former owners had their garden,” Emma Sue said. “Cecil didn’t want it that far away from the house. Said it was too far for me to carry water.”
Bridgette chomped her teeth together to keep from making a comment about Cecil carrying the water and pretended to be focused on securing the edges of the cloth with a couple of spoons.
“I’m sure Cecil will like green beans prepared like this. He claims he doesn’t like them, but he must, because he never brings home any other seeds.” Smiling, Emma Sue chewed another small forkful of beans before speaking again. “I got some carrot and turnip seeds, and a few others from my father, but I’m afraid Cecil forgot to water them when I first took ill.”
“He didn’t forget,” Bridgette mumbled as she crossed the room to add salt to the pot of water holding the rabbit she’d shot after tending to the garden this morning. Cecil may be too lazy to see Emma Sue got the proper nourishment, but she wasn’t.
“What? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you.”
Bridgette covered the pot and pulled up a smile before she turned about. “Nothing, just talking to myself.”
“Cecil’s not always this grumpy,” Emma Sue said. “He’s just frustrated because...” Her cheeks turned pink as she laid a hand on her protruding stomach. “Because with me so far along we can’t...”
Bridgette held up a hand, hoping to stop Emma Sue before she finished her sentence, but it was too late.
“Well, you know, be husband and wife.”
Bridgette stifled a groan. She’d known what Emma Sue had been referring to, and hadn’t needed to hear it. If she let that image into her head, she might never be able to sleep again.
Moving and using her hand to gesture toward the table, Bridgette said, “There’s more bread and the beans are on the stove for when Cecil returns. I set the rabbit to simmer while